


contingency rules

by TheResurrectionist



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, The Big Three - Freeform, Watchtower shenanigans, and he's terrible at it, broom closets and bud light, bruce flirts with everyone when he's drunk, kyrptonite can koozies, which involve poor beer taste and ancient amazonian coins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 13:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: The Big Three don’t always take their duties too seriously.(AKA the time Hal Jordan was called to a late night security briefing in a Watchtower broom closet, and everything that followed)





	contingency rules

**Author's Note:**

> Written after I watched "The Boys" on Amazon and needed a pick me up. I need more Big Three shenanigans in my life.

Returning from off-world missions meant dropping his clothes at the doorway, spritzing them with a bottle of Coconut Breeze Febreze he’d gotten at Walgreens on clearance, and heading straight for the shower, neighbors be damned. 

Hal was half a step into the tub, whistling a line from Aerosmith, when his comm went off. Groaning, he dried his hand off on a towel and picked the damn thing up, one foot still in the tub. He wasn’t quite ready to commit yet.

_ Watchtower room 5268B. _ Clark’s message read. _ Need your help for a security issue. Come as soon as you’re able. _

Hal glanced mournfully at the tub. The blue-green goo, caked on a half-inch thick, swirled off his leg and down the drain. The urge to claw it off his skin briefly overtook him. So what if Clark had to wait a few minutes? 

They never called him this late, though. And never for a security issue. Hal groaned again, stepping out of the tub and stamping his feet on the bath mat. 

_ This better be fucking important. _

* * *

Finding room 5268B was harder than Clark had made it appear. Surely, he thought, walking down the same Watchtower sub-hallway for the fifth time, there would be a room 5268_ A. _But he’d had no luck, passing the mid-5000’s and reaching the 6000’s, then back again. 

He gritted his teeth against the urge to pull out Batman’s carefully-constructed Watchtower map system, willing himself to do another loop near the fifth floor conference rooms. Why the hell weren’t they meeting in the normal hall? Or their rooms? Or a coffee shop in Manhattan, for christ’s sake?

After another five minutes of frustrated stumbling, his comm beeped. 

_ I just saw you walk by. Go back three doors, we’re inside on the left. _

Hal huffed at Clark’s message, pausing before he turned around to make it seem like he’d known that all along. And he was just examining this hallway in particular...for security. Security...threats. 

Three doors back, he came across an unlabeled door. There was a pad of braille on the right side of the frame, nearly hidden in the low light. He pushed inside the alcove, blinking. It was strangely dark--

He ducked just in time to see a large mop fall towards his face, swinging over his hair and ramming itself into the wall. Hal flinched backwards, slamming his shoulder into a shelf. Bottles jostled above his head, tipping towards the floor. 

“No, no no no--” he muttered, watching in disbelief as Drano and 409 came crashing down around him. “What the _ fuck-- _”

A half-dozen bottles later, and it was easy to put the clues together. 5268B was a broom closet. That was why he couldn’t find it. A _ fucking broom closet. _

Behind the wall to his left, he heard muffled voices. There was another nondescript door, cracked open just a hair. Hal leaned down, careful not to touch anything. 

“--really don’t understand why she insists on it,” Batman was saying, just out of sight. “I understand her faithfulness to the look, but leather is _ murderous _in summer.”

Diana snorted, legs kicked up over a plush grey armchair. She was twirling a dagger in her left hand, smiling idly. “Speak for yourself, Bruce.”

“He did install a cooling system,” Clark said, pointing at Diana. “And I’m 90% sure Pepper Potts is desperate for the specs.”

“What, she doesn’t like her men dripping in sweat?” Batman asked, a smile in his voice. Hal had never heard him this relaxed--or, frankly, this amused. 

“Day-old sweat, trapped in the confines of metal and rubber,” Diana said, frowning. “This is why we Amazons fight with bare limbs. So it can evaporate. From the armpits, or the breasts, and in between the legs--”

“Whoah,” Clark interjected, more than a little bit of Kansas sneaking its way into the word. “We believe you.”

In the small crack Hal could see, the other man was flushing a bright pink. Knowing Batman, it would be about three seconds before he--

“No, Diana, don’t stop there,” Batman said, words dripping in savage amusement. “Please tell us more about the sweat-management methods.”

Clark sent a murderous glare his way, getting an amused exhale in return. Hal almost dropped his ring, snickering in disbelief. 

Big mistake. Clark’s eyes flashed over to where he was crouched in the doorway, narrowing in on him instantly. 

“Hal’s here,” he told the others, nodding at the door. 

“Gr_eat _,” Batman said, drawing out the word. “Now it’s really a party.”

Diana laughed, a quick two-toned scale. “I don’t know,” she said, her accent thicker than normal--her voice was almost like a purr. “I think he is very cute.”

Clark looked mildly horrified. He gestured for Hal to come in. 

_ Well, here goes nothing. _

He pushed into the room, surprised. The space was filled with carpets and couches, centering around a stone fireplace that almost looked...rustic. A hardwood coffee table edged the nearest couches, covered in empty bottles of Modelo and Ouzo. 

Diana was draped across one of the couches, wearing leggings and a loose, cable-knit cream sweater. She waved at him with the hand holding the dagger, cheeks flushed, eyes half-glazed. 

Bat--_ Bruce _was on the couch next to her, feet kicked up in a similar pose. He was wearing a charcoal turtleneck and dark bootcut blue jeans, hair wet and slightly mussed, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Hal still couldn’t get over the eerie handsomeness of his face without the cowl, even if the glare transferred over. 

He turned back to Clark, who was wrapped in a red and black flannel and ripped jeans. He was holding a Miller Light. In a Can Koozie. A _ Batman _Can Koozie. 

“Yeah,” Hal said, struggling to find words. He watched as Bruce picked up another Modelo, cracking it open with a thick silver ring on his left hand. “I’m sorry but...what the fuck?”

Bruce whipped his hand out to slap Diana’s bicep. “I _ told _you he’d say that.”

“I clearly misjudged him,” the Amazon said, digging into her legging waistband. She pulled out a rusted coin, setting it in the other man’s hand. “Enjoy.”

Bruce crowed in delight, leaning back with his beer to examine it in the light. Doing so involved bending almost completely upside-down on the armchair, which he managed with lithe grace, even in socked feet. 

“You got my messages,” Clark said, drawing his attention back to the front of the room. Even without the cape, there was still a hint of Superman in his voice. “We had a security breach on the satellite orbiting the media wing--”

“Should be nothing,” Bruce said, eyeing Clark upside down from the couch, still examining the coin. “Probably just a dry-lock error.”

“But what if it isn’t?” Diana asked. She hiccuped before she could continue the thought, looking shocked. “Bruce. I fear I am getting intoxicated.”

Bruce _ hmmed, _a frustratingly familiar sound. He’d produced a pair of reading glasses in the scant few seconds Hal had been looking away, holding them up to his face so they didn’t fall onto the floor. 

“I...I uh, don’t mean to sound rude,” Hal said, turning back to Clark. “But isn’t that a fairly simple task for you or Diana?”

“Contingency rules,” Bruce muttered, waving at Clark. 

Clark sighed. 

“Contingency rules.”

Nobody seemed keen on explaining. That, or they were too drunk to hold that kind of thought for too long. 

“I’ll bite,” Hal said, finally, when Clark had taken three long pulls of his Miller and was looking mournfully at the empty six--pack on the table. “What are contingency rules?”

Bruce, who’d apparently given up on examining the coin, rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his face. “No present Watchtower staff, in the scope of their watch duties, may either 1) become intoxicated and leave the Watchtower before they regain former sobriety, or 2) leave a fellow watch shift lead intoxicated without sufficient contingent staff present.”

Diana rolled her eyes, tossing her dagger up into the air. Hal bit off a gasp as she caught the knifepoint on her fingernail, balancing it perfectly. “Bruce has informed us that we cannot leave, even to check the exterior lock.”

“We have _ bylaws, _” Bruce muttered indignantly into his arm. 

“So we called you,” Clark said, replacing his Miller with a Bud Light--and looking mildly horrified by that premise. “Can you go and check the lock? Pretty please?”

Hal frowned, zeroing in on the other man’s facial expression. “Are you...drunk?”

Clark flushed again, curling backwards into his La-Z-Boy with his Koozie. “_Maybe _.” 

“But how?”

“You know,” Bruce said, raising his head to look at Hal. His hair was even more mussed than before. “For a green man with infinite green power, you sure don’t know a lot about green things.”

Diana took pity on him, petting Bruce’s hair softly as the other man collapsed back into the couch. “His beverage holder is Kryptonite. Bruce wove it for him a few years ago.”

“With the Kryptonite I was keeping in case I had to kill him,” Bruce felt the need to add.

Clark snorted.

“But then I was like...what do I do with all this shit now, you know? And it was a Koozie, or an exfoliating brush.”

_ He’s joking, _Clark mouthed at him. He turned back to Bruce. “Why did you think I needed to exfoliate?”

“Wrinkles,” Bruce said, like that explained everything. Clark shook his head. 

“Media wing,” Hal said, before his life could be ruined by anything else the most famed and prestigious heroes in the world could say. “Right? I’ll just go zip out there and check on it. No need to worry.”

“Let us know if you find anything,” Clark said, flashing puppy eyes at him. “We can knock Bruce out and help you.”

“Bylaws!” Bruce shouted, muffled by Diana’s arm. “Contingency rules!”

“Uh huh,” Hal said, not wanting to open that can of worms. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll open my comm if it is.”

Clark waved him off, going back to whatever silent communication he was having with his Bud Light. Hal paused by the door back into the broom closet, wondering if anyone would ever believe him without proof. 

The second his phone was out of his pocket, a batarang flew across the room, knocking it out of his hand. 

“_No_.” he heard Bruce say, “take a picture, and I make your incognito browsing public.”

Hal picked up his phone, scrambling for the door. He was halfway into the hallway when he heard Clark’s voice drift out to him. 

“You can’t actually do that, right? I thought incognito browsing was private to everyone.”

There was a brief pause. 

“Do you want me to tell you the truth, or should I just teach you how to double-encrypt your porn and we never talk about this again?”

Hal heard something that sounded suspiciously like a Bud Light-spit take. Diana cackled, and the door finally shut. 


End file.
